in the corners of your heart i found a home
by lilypads
Summary: like a thousand times before she's leaving carnage in her wake. —jamesoc, next gen.


**note**: i really dislike oc's but it seems like everyone else in james' year who we're told about is either his relative or his relative. so here, have a sappy house rivalry romance between my crappy oc & the lovely james potts. i can also imagine albus being quite dark and sarcy too, which is why i have portrayed him that way.

don't ask me how slughorn is still alive, let alone still holding his infamous parties — i don't know either.

p.s i lost so much momentum by the end of this drabble (story?) so that's why the end sucks _hard. _but whatever, this is my first next gen attempt so let's just blame it on that and not my turd writing abilities.  
probs some grammar & spelling mistakes because i haven't bothered to go through it. wow, this is like the most depressing an ever, sorry guys!

**disclaimer**: DISCLAIMED OMG.

steady breathing  
punctured heart.

#

* * *

There had always been a certain fascination of being drawn to pretty things, and to James, he found that although he tried—and try hard, he did—he simply could not deny the pull. It was a magnetic force that gripped him and lured him in and he felt compelled to obey.

At a young age he had developed a habit of entering his mum's room and playing with her jewellery, it shone and sparkled as he held it up to the light. The wide and awed expression he wore could only suggest that he had been playing with the golden and silver trinkets. Most days he would spend his free time heading back and forth and collecting more and more of her pretty gems—that was, until Ginevera Weasley began screaming the house down with a "_Who the hell has been pinching my jewellery!_"

After that, he resisted the temptation.

But as the years passed on by, James could not seem to shake the habit.

He started collecting useless junk from old antique shops, where he would find the most oddest and mesmerizing little _things__—_he had a broken silver watch, a cigarette case (with the words _king & country _engraved into it), stupid pieces of jewellery he'd never wear and a plethora of tiny, pretty, sparkly (fake) gems and diamonds.

And this, he decided, was probably why he was drawn to _her. _

* * *

Jacqueline Greengrass (because her mother, a certain Daphne Greengrass—notorious wild card and liquor enthusiast—refused to marry the man who got her up the duff, thus leaving the two women with Daphne's original surname) was nothing short of pretty, perfect and porcelain. Her hair was the colour of liquid gold and her eyes reminded James of a frozen lake.

In short—she was everything he had ever wanted reincarnate in a living, breathing person.

It was hard _not _to watch her as she prowled the corridors, as she made her descent down stairs, as she flourished through the rows of tables towards Slytherin.

But James, despite being a Gryffindor through-and-through, had enough sense to keep his distance. Their lives could not be more different: she was smart, vivacious, cold, beautiful and—no doubt—ruthless. Where she was dark, cold and sinister, James was bright, hot-headed and warm. Stark contrasts and yet, he still found her aura a lure.

She was pretty, yes, but she had more bite then a venemous tentacular.

As if knowing _where _the seventh year captain was directing his attention, Fred nudged his arm and said helpfully (but not really), "I know where you're looking, James, but you'd have more luck dating a snargaluff plant," James turned to meet his friends eyes, a sigh on his lips. "She's way outta your league mate. Probably even way outta _anyone's _league."

"But that's _just it,_ ain't it?" James said, screwing his face up miserably. "The more you want 'em, the less likely you'll get 'em."

Mikal Jordan, having been occupied with his food moments before, joined the conversation. "Girls are complicated, dude," he fiddled anxiously with his fork as he spoke, casting a weary glance in his girlfriend, Carla Lefty's, direction. "Especially that Greengrass chick — think about it rationally, her mum's a severe alcoholic with commitment issues," and as he spoke, James couldn't deny the evidence against him, "what do you reckon the woman's offspring is going to be like?"

"Think you're being a bit harsh," said Fred with a lopsided grin. "Her mum isn't _that _bad," and then as an after thought, he added quietly, "she's bloody fit though."

"Who?"

Both Fred and Mikal stared at James as if he had just sprouted two heads. "Daphne Greengrass, moron," Fred supplied in a dead obvious tone. "It's no wonder Jacqueline is as gorgeous as she is, with a mum like Daphne. Wonder who the dad was though."

"Probably some dead beat," Mikal offered. His attention was now on Carla who was scooting over with a few friends, ready to join the conversation. James made a signal that this whole topic of his "pathetic little crush" was hereby _over. _But as the newly joined girls chatted away idly, with Fred supplying a few jokes here and there, James just could not seem to keep his eyes and his brain from Jacqueline Greengrass.

* * *

With quidditch practice keeping James wrapped up, he hardly spared the girl a thought.

By late November, he thought he may of actually managed to quit the habit—for the first time in his life—but then he spoke too soon, as usual. Jacqueline wandered into the library where he was attempting some late night potions-cramming. Though it had been going quite smoothly till then, he now found himself unable to function.

His body had become hyper aware of her presence, like a lowly moth to a bright and brilliant flame.

James had always wondered how a pretty girl could commander a room so easily—it was like the air was sucked from the room, like a sense of tranquillity washing over him, as if he had been drawn from his own body and was watching _over _the scene. That's how he felt (and no doubt others) when Jacqueline entered a room.

Funny thing was, she didn't even need to be doing anything to warrant such a reaction.

Jacqueline could tilt her head and the world would fall with the motion, she could brush a strand of hair behind her ear and people would swoon and gush. Hell, she could probably do something utterly, utterly out of character and fart, and men would breath it in with satisfaction.

After thinking that, James chuckled.

Her attention was on him in seconds of his mistake.

His heart had been beating steadily, passing blood through his body, but now it was like a frantic war raging on beneath his chest. Their eyes met—hazel and blue—across the library and he swore, in this moment, that he was frozen by her gaze. It was like his brain had stopped working but his heart carried on to thump violently.

Then reality came crashing down on him like icy water and she shifted her eyes elsewhere.

"Merlin's balls," James swore under his breath, his eyes wide and his heart still manic. "I need to get some sleep."

* * *

"No, no, no."

"Oh, c'_mon,_" James pleaded.

They were stood outside the great hall, both brothers who looked so similar, but were so very different. Al had his arms crossed over his chest, a bland and bored look plastered across his face. He was not happy with this dent in his morning—he could be eating his favourite: toast with peanut butter right now, had his idiot brother not intercepted him in the entrance hall.

"You're being ridiculous, James," Al finally responded simply. "As if she would ever consider you anyway — do you not _realise _who she is?" he uncrossed his arms and then added in a serious tone, "have you no understanding of the social hierarchy or are you still as thick as a log."

James grinned, unfazed by his sixteen year old brothers jibes. "Don't be such a fun-sponge, little bro," he went to ruffle Al's hair, but the younger Potter stopped him with a warning glare. "Anyway, all I want to do is talk to her, not ask her out. I'm not suicidal."

"Could of fooled me," muttered Al darkly. Then, as he looked up into the hazel eyes of James, he seemed to relent a little. "Fine, fine," he waved away James' squeals of thanks, "but if this caves in and she hex's you, don't come crying to me."

"As if," James scoffed arrogantly. "I don't cry. That's you when you've lost Mr. Fluffies."

The red tinge to Al's face had James roaring in laughter—their best kept secret. Al's stuffed teddy bear which he kept concealed by a charm that turned it into a pillow. Though he had managed to piss his brother off, James decided that he had definitely won over the information. Besides, it's not like he would ever spill the beans on Mr. Fluffies.

James had his _own _stuffed toy, after all.

"She likes reading poetry," Al confessed reluctantly, "I've seen her in the common room with books about poetry. But aside from that, she's quite reserved; don't think I've ever heard her have a proper conversation. But whatever, that's all you're getting."

"_Poetry?_" James exclaimed, shocked. "Blimey, I hadn't expected that one."

"Now if you'd kindly bugger off," said Al waspishly. "I have a date with a piece of peanut butter toast and I'd quite like to join it."

James watched his brother stalk off with an air of someone who thought themselves high and mighty (six years in the house of arseholes—he means Slytherin's—can do that to you though). But at least he had some vital information concerning Jacqueline's hobbies, however unexpected they may have been.

* * *

Putting aside his usual interests, James began his research into poetry.

Al, the little demon, hadn't offered him anything on whether she enjoyed muggle poetry or not—but as he searched fervently through the poetry section in the library, he was coming up scarcely short of any wizards or witches writing it. In fact, almost all that section was filled out by muggle poetry. But surely? James frowned and leaned his arm on the shelf, a knot forming between his brows.

"Why is this so difficult..." he muttered to himself, giving the books a hard glare.

Why couldn't she be into something easy like chocolate or quidditch? Even something like literature would be a lot less hassle to dig up. But poetry? What kind of self-respective pureblood Slytherin would actively read muggle poetry? Was his entire perspective on this girl wrong? He _had _only ever observed her from afar, so it's not like he had a filing cabinet of information on her.

_She's quite reserved, don't think I've ever heard her have a proper conversation, _Al's words came back to him like a tidal wave. What James had always thought of her... could it be wrong? Could the daughter of Daphne 'One-more-glass' Greengrass really be a soft touch? James stared harder at the titles of tomes as he thought hard over this situation. Jacqueline Greengrass was pretty—that much was fact, but what of her elusive personality?

He was about to push himself off the shelf when someone's presence alerted him.

James spun round and came face-to-face with the very girl who was causing him such distress.

"Hello Potter."

Her voice was high as bells and rich as velvet. She spoke quietly, curiously, her blue eyes gazing at him with neither interest nor disregard.

"I had no idea you were into poetry," she continued, nodding towards the tomes on the shelf. "What a pleasant surprise that Gryffindor's star captain should harbour such a threatening secret."

"I-it's not like that," he found himself spluttering from surprise and anger—how dare she imply he was some poetry reading sap!

"Oh?" her mild tone rung decibels around the empty shelves, it unnerved and enthralled him. "Then why are you hovering hopelessly in the poetry section of the library?"

James was at his full height now, he stood about a head taller than her and the height difference gave him some confidence, bravado. He hadn't expected their encounter so soon, he hadn't even _prepared _and yet, here she was, being pretty, perfect and _bloody _frustrating. While he, the captain of his team, the boyish and playful Gryffindor, could hardly breath.

"I... was just looking for something," James managed to dreg up mindlessly.

Jacqueline finally showed her true emotions—he was glad to see the glimmer of disbelief. "So you _are _actually here for a reason then," she said. "Not just wandering aimlessly through the library like a lost cub."

"No," he confirmed. "I'm here for a reason."

"What is it?"

_Ah, _his brain supplied scathingly, _good thinking idiot. _"Oh... well, I'm not entirely sure actually," he lied on the spot, hoping his confusion was convincing enough for her. "My... my friend mentioned a piece of poetry but I've completely forgotten the name—"

"Naturally," she cut across smoothly. At the crease of his brows, she said informatively, "you're a Gryffindor. It's inevitable."

He ignored the insult to his intelligence and his house and instead shrugged. "Could you recommend me anything else instead?"

For a second James was sure she would outright deny him, but then a small smile appeared across her lips. The gestured caused his heart to flutter madly—the simple act of smiling brought out her eyes, her cheeks. Made the green on her uniform seem irrelevant. James almost forgot who he was sharing an isle with, almost forgot his senses all together, as she moved closer.

Jacqueline had taken two steps forward, his personal space now invaded completely.

"I can help," her breath blew past him in a swirl of mint.

Their eyes stayed connected as her arm reached up slowly to the shelf. James paid her movements no mind, all he could think about was how _close _she was to him. The warmth of her body pressed leisurely into his chest and the way her lips parted a fraction. His heart; his mind; his body—all currently on shut down, as she tilted her head up and applied a little more pressure against him.

James was about to throw all caution to the wind because _fuck this girl is driving me barmy! _when—

"This one's quite a good read," Jacqueline said, miles and miles and miles away.

Her body no longer pressed to his, the moment gone, James felt the air return to his lungs in one fluid motion.

She handed him the book and left.

The only sound as she left him standing there were the beating of his heart and the berating of his common sense.

* * *

"I'd hardly call that a moment, mate," Fred consoled with a sympathetic pat on the back.

James was hunched over his Transfiguration work, his head in his hands as they raked mercilessly through his hair. Twenty-four hours had been and gone since his encounter with Jacqueline and he still hadn't found a reasonable explanation for her bizarre behaviour. All his assessments and all his speculations—crushed. This person he shared a moment with (no matter _what _his prick friends said) was an enigma, further even, than the one he had been tempted by before.

"Whatever it was," James grunted, "it certainly wasn't what I'd been expecting."

"Yeah," Mikal added thoughtfully. "That _really _doesn't scream — '_Jacqueline "Ice Queen" Greengrass', _does it?" he shared a funny look with Fred as James groaned aloud again, looking like a man who had been dragged through hell and back. "There's always other girls, James," Mikal tried to offer helpfully.

"Other girls!" exclaimed James, distressed. "How am I ever to think of another girl after _that! _And shut up, both of you," James warned as the two boys opened their mouths to correct him, "I know what happened. Neither of you were there — you didn't see the way she _looked at me. _I'm telling you, she wanted me."

Fred pursed his lips to hold in a roar of laughter.

Mikal, however, had no shame and said strongly, "You're getting too worked up over this chick, James," the severe tone made James look up and meet his friends eye, "you need to let it go or one of you is going to end up getting hurt. And believe me, it probably won't be her."

_Always the voice of reason, _James thought, pissed off.

But he was right, no matter how much James wished him not to be. Jacqueline was dangerous. She was capable of drawing him in, pulling him apart, leaving him breathless, gasping and then turning her back on him. How she had this effect, he was not sure, but as he grew to grasp her personality, he understood her less and less.

Who _was _Jacqueline Greengrass.

* * *

Four days before they broke up for Christmas break and James was tying the knot of his suit tie.

He had decided that dress robes were far too humiliating, so he had begged and begged his parents to send him a normal, casual looking suit. Eventually, after arguments sent back and forth between his owl, Caesar, they had agreed to go and buy him a muggle suit. It certainly fitted much nicer then his god awful dress robes he wore last year.

"Are you ready yet, Potter!" Fred called from the common room, no doubt using the megaphone like device his ingenious father had created.

James gave his reflection one last fleeting look—dark hair flopped into his hazel eyes, his blazer undone and his top button left open—and grinned that boyish, rugged grin of his.

Tonight was his last ever Slug Club Christmas party and he would be damned if he missed it.

"Yeah," called James hastily, descending the stairs two at a time, "I'm ready, don't get your knickers in a twist."

Fred mocked looking affronted as Licia Davies hung off his arm, whilst Mikal and Carla were looking loved up in matching dress robes. James fought the urge to gag. Around the boys, Mikal was loud, vibrant and the voice of reason. With his misses his personality did a 180, he was quiet, obedient and love-sick. Carla was one of those girls who had a fiery temper and a brutal right hook, though, so James could hardly blame him.

However, James did admire her greatly, for once she punched Vince Zabini in the face for calling her a mudblood.

"Shall we go then?" Licia asked everyone, receiving nods of approval.

They set off down the stairs towards Slughorn's classroom.

Inside the lavishly decorated classroom that had been extended for the night, James spotted her almost instantly.

Jacqueline was dressed in a silver floor length gown, her liquid gold hair cascaded down her back in soft ringlets. She was stood with a group of Slytherin's and her posture was guarded, as if she very well didn't want to be there. He was momentarily lost for breath as he stared unabashedly at her from across the room. This is why he hates her, he thinks, because she can do this to him without even knowing it (or maybe she does?) she can knock the life from him without even looking at him.

"Oi, mate," Mikal pulled him from his reverie. "You're blocking the entrance you bloody idiot."

James started, realising he was holding up a large group of people. He turned around and apologized sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Nobody seemed to really mind as he _is_James Potter and that in itself was enough reason to bypass his stupidity. But as James moved away from the entrance and took his place by the buffet table, he was overcome with the urge to walk right up to her and demand her attention.

That is, until, she was approached by another.

He recognized the person to be Lion Flint—_he doesn't even go here any more, _James inwardly fumed. The elder boy graduated two years prior and is a spitting image of his father, Marcus Flint, except minus the large teeth and the foul sneer. There's something quite predatory in his eyes though, which does not go unnoticed by either James or Jacqueline.

Watching with intent, he see's her coldly deny his request for a dance and James' heart leapt with relief.

It was time to make a move, as it was now or never.

James was about to stride right up to her group when she turned around and caught his eye—in her gaze, he see's the request. She's walking towards the door to the corridor outside and he followed her without a second thought. He pushed through a sea of people, nodding when someone greeted him but not staying long enough to answer his friends curious glances.

Nothing else mattered as he exited the party and joined her in a dimly lit, chilly corridor.

Jacqueline tilted her head to the side, her frosty eyes were staring right into his. "How did you find the book?" and something in her tone suggested she already knew he put the damned poetry book back the moment she left him.

"Very informative," he said with a cocky grin.

"What have you learned from it, Potter?"

Despite having the pride of a lion, James went right ahead and said it. "That there's this boy—a damned gorgeous one, at that—who can't stop thinking about this girl—a beautiful enigma of a girl—and has found himself falling quite hard for her," he leaned against the wall, she looked up at him, "but there's a problem."

Jacqueline humoured him, a smirk curving her red lips. "And what, prey tell, is the problem?"

"The the boy—you know, the devilishly handsome one—can't seem to figure her out," James explained casually. "So he gets himself all worked up over her and he just doesn't know _why. _Because really, he just wants to kiss her and hopefully, he thinks, that'll give him all the answers to his woes."

There's a silence that followed his tale and James can't help but watch her reaction intently. She's got her arms crossed over her chest, not defensively, but quite naturally. He noticed that she looked a lot more relaxed around him than she did even with her house mates. The thought gave him a spur of excitement.

"I see," her voice drew him back to her—his eyes flickered to her lips then back to her eyes. "Then shouldn't this so-called 'devilishly handsome boy' figure out a way to understand her?"

"Oh he's tried," he countered playfully. "But she's an odd one, you see. Blows hot and cold like crazy, she does."

"Then perhaps," she's moved closer again. James swallowed hard. "He should revert to his original plan."

He would of said something witty, maybe even cracked a lame joke, but he found himself currently thrown with the almost overwhelming need to be _with _her. Not just in the sense of being physically with her, but really _with _her. James _did _throw caution this time and bent lower and lower, his heart thudding harder and harder, until he was inches from her lips.

"I was hoping you would say that," he whispered against her lips.

Then it happened.

He caught the pretty, perfect, porcelain girl in a kiss that blew his mind and his heart; his hands snaked around her waist and hers flew to his jacket, clinging on roughly. Her lips were softer then he had ever imagined—her tongue wine and her body lush against his own.

It was like finding his mum's jewellery all over again as they parted.

James' face was flush, awed and his eyes were wide.

"So what happened next?" she asked, breathless and weightless.

He shrugged, holding her close. "They lived happily ever after, of course." and he grinned down at her, amused by her raised eyebrow and unimpressed look. But for now, he didn't really care what happened next, as long as he got to kiss those lips and listen to that voice, he was perfectly content.


End file.
